


Redefining Freedom

by briarbunny



Series: CATALYST [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Assassin-type violence, Blood and Violence, Canon Divergent, Eventual Happy Ending, Found Family, HYDRA sucks, Homelessness, Identity Issues, M/M, Multi, Murder, Mutual Pining, Near mute character, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sex in the prologue, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and then it’s a shitshow with FAMILY, honestly it’s a bit of a shitshow until certain things happen, lets just day Bucky and Tony are big dummies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:57:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briarbunny/pseuds/briarbunny
Summary: Brought to a base as a child and trained as an assassin, Angel is nearly everything Hydra could ever want. He’s efficient, deadly, and near-mute; he’s ruthless and obedient, a genius in his craft and in the weapons department. In short, Angel is Hydra’s technological wet dream.But then comes the failure of Project Insight. It’s the catalyst that lands him out of Hydra’s grasp and into the real world, with the chance to find out who it is, exactly, that he wants to be.So when a new threat looms on the horizon and his past holds the key to stopping it, Angel must find the courage—and the voice—to help the Avengers before the world is plunged into darkness forever.





	Redefining Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y’all!! This is a short prologue before I get into the plot—just as something to have published on here to keep me motivated, as well as something of a warning. If you can’t handle this first piece, I suggest turning back now! Have fun!

_Prologue._

There’s a hand in his hair, pulling, tugging, sparks of pain racing along his scalp. Another hand at his hip; the fingers are digging in, bruising, purple and blue blossoming under his olive skin with the same ferocity they had been given to him. His jaw aches and his wrists are burned a little from the belt that had been wrapped around the delicate things; the low of his hips are going to be burning come tomorrow.

But right now, he  _ likes _ it.

“Oh, fuck, yeah baby, look at you.” The voice in his ear is reedy and panting, hot breaths puffing against his ear. Each shove of the cock inside him sends him rocking forward a few inches—what the man lacks in finesse, he seems to want to make up for in pure speed, in roughness. It won’t be enough for release to be reciprocated, but that’s alright. In fact, that’s normal. 

The hand pulls harder and he moans softly, baring his throat to the hotel mattress below him, knees rubbed raw from the carpet earlier, and now where they’re holding his spread weight on the bed. “There we go,” the man groans. His other hand moves to rake hot, blistering scratches down his back, and all he does is shove back onto that cock, taking it deep, relentlessly. “ _ Fuck, _ baby,  _ Angel _ , yes, just like that…!”

Ah, his name. It sounds good like this, it always does. It doesn’t matter who’s saying it; he knows the lilt of passion, the edge of desperation. He’s intimately familiar with the way lips form his name like a prayer, like a gospel to be remembered and cherished. It’s good, he loves it—but it can never last. 

“ _ Ah _ , Daddy, please,” Angel whines, and when he turns his head back to see the man—SHIELD agent, scruffy blond beard, dazzling blue eyes, his button down still on but open, the fabric brushing Angel’s hips—he knows he has him right where he wants him. The agent’s pupils are blown wide and he feels a twitch of the cock inside him in reaction to the lewd moniker. “Let me ride you. Please, please, Daddy, I-I wanna make you feel good…”

Silently, smugly, Angel reminds himself that he’s first pick for these kinds of missions. Not Jayce, not Hayden, not Carol.  _ Him. _ And damn, that feels good. 

With a groan, the agent pulls himself out. “Of course, baby,” he says with a nod, flopping to his back. He’s close, Angel can tell, shivers running through him and his balls drawn up tight. Maybe, just maybe, Angel wants to draw it out a little, doesn’t quite want it to end. So he takes his time, swinging his lean thighs over the agent’s, his dark brown curls sweaty at the hairline, his whiskey-gold eyes thinned to a ring around his blown pupils. He knows he looks a sight, bruised up and marked up, his lithe form crawling up his legs, lips bitten-red and wet with spit, flushed from cheek to chest. The agent knows it too, reaching for his hips again, and Angel lets him. He goes with him, allows him to be pulled closer—and soon, is sinking down on the man’s cock with a whine.

He knows how to play this game. Look like a virgin—fuck like a slut. His expression stays a little surprised, a little shy, while he works his ass and hips and thighs to drag that climax out of him, arched back for the pale light of the moon to catch the smattering of freckles across his chest and nose through the hotel window. 

And, like always, it works. 

It isn’t long before the agent cries out his name and drags him down, thrusts up once, twice, three times. Angel feels the warmth spill into him; he hums with satisfaction, pleased with himself, a smile playing at his lips. He’s still hard, his cock curved into the tight wires of his pubic hair, slim stomach heaving with each breath. He leans down, kisses the agent. 

His fingers slide under the pillow. The cool handle of a blade meets him there, and he nibbles, licks, distracts the agent. He draws back then, his hips wiggling a little, and kisses his nose. The agent goes to say something. He doesn’t get the chance. 

Angel slices the blade through his throat. It’s a clean cut; it curves from ear to ear, a gruesome smile carved into the flesh. Blood bubbles up and the agent gives a garbled cry. His hands press to his throat, his body bucks, but there’s nothing to be done. He’ll be dead soon, once he goes into shock from bloodloss. Angel just smiles at him, serene, and bends for one last kiss. It tastes like copper and champagne; it had been no issue to drag the agent away from the gala with the promise of his body, and the metal is the man’s blood, filling his mouth. 

He’s growing still. Angel pushes himself up off of his victim, hardly sparing him a glance, only keeping an eye out to make sure the agent makes no moves for help or to attack in return. The agent doesn’t. He dies there, drowning in his own blood, the gross display of his satisfaction evidenced in the rumpled sheets, the scent of sex, his nakedness. 

It’s a mission accomplished. Easily, routinely, the young assassin gathers his clothes. He wipes the blood from the knife off on his thigh, the crimson staining his warm skin but better than wiping it where it could be found, and then dresses. Angel fixes himself up in the hotel mirror, wiping away his sweat with a tissue and stuffing it in his pocket, styles his hair, and brushes down his tuxedo. All while the reflection of the corpse joins him, off to the side in the mirror, a perverse reminder of what he’s taken, what he’s done.

What he’s accomplished. 

One last check over himself, and then Angel nods. He doesn’t glance at the bed when he leaves. Hidden at his breast, he carries the files the agent had—the names of HYDRA operatives within SHIELD, the plans to further the slow, creeping domination of the security sector. They won’t see the light of day, now.

And, Angel thinks, as he steps out onto the street below, the stars glittering merrily above him, neither will he.

**Author's Note:**

> I also rp as Angel over on tumblr. You can find him (and me) [here.](www.viiolenceborn.tumblr.com)


End file.
